


Mark Of A Good Man

by SilverLynxx



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Father Figures, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Very Very Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: He half-turns to look down the rows of stately townhouses where they were attending that evening’s social function and considers his options; showing face for better or worse, or finding out what had delayed the wayward ringmaster.





	Mark Of A Good Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMissingMask](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingMask/gifts).



> So for peak originality I bring you this fic which is totally not two previous fic concepts I've already written about smushed into one. It was written for a good friend, who I hope had a lovely weekend, and who unknowingly requested barlyle fluff with a side of Phillip!whump and got a surprisingly sparse helping of both, but hey XD
> 
> Thank you extra much to the wonderful [Schizanthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schizanthus) for beta-ing as per!

It’s precisely 6:07pm when Phillip checks his pocket watch for the third time. The timepiece is cool and heavy in his palm, and his thumb rubs over the gold casing upon snapping the lid closed. It’s an inattentive action, a subtle foible gone unnoticed from his youth, and it’s responsible for the steady wearing away of the intricate floral cartouche.

The trundling of a carriage down the cobblestone road takes over the street and snatches Phillip’s attention. While his shoulders drop with relief, Phillip turns with an expression lined with impatience and irritation, armed with a pointed reminder he’d told Phineas _not to be late_ _._ It’s short lived when the carriage, drawn by a sure-footed bay, carries on past, the lively conversation of the carriage’s occupants fading away until Phillip is once again left alone on the corner of the boulevard.

A new apprehension settles over Phillip, adding to the existing but no less unpleasant trepidation he’d amassed over the course of the day. It’s a feeling of quiet dread and festering self-doubt only his father could be credited for, and the thought of encountering the senior Carlyle now, for the first time since his disownment, with the circus in the midst of being rebuilt and his skin still mottled with injury, had seen Phillip leaving his apartment with notable reluctance that evening.

He mutters a curse under his breath as he tucks his pocket watch away, damning his partner should Phineas leave Phillip to face his former life like this alone; among an assemblage of skindering vultures who would simply spend the night waiting to pick at his carcass once his father finished with him. If his father deigned to acknowledge him at all. Phillip couldn’t quite decide which show of public contempt was preferable.

But again his thoughts come back to Phineas. Though it was often a surprise to some, he was not a man known to be late, especially coming on - Phillip checks his watch again. 6:14. - forty-five minutes. He half-turns to look down the rows of stately townhouses where they were attending that evening’s social function and considers his options; showing face for better or worse, or finding out what had delayed the wayward ringmaster.

He hasn’t a chance to take a deciding step in either direction before he’s struck, a solid weight barrelling into his stomach accompanied by a joyous squeal of his name.

“Helen?!”

His exclamation is as surprised as it is winded, but he instinctively bends over to return the girl’s embrace as hurried footsteps follow.

“Helen! You’ll wrinkle your nice dress!” Caroline admonishes, sounding so little like either of her parents Phillip can’t help but smile despite his bewilderment. He straightens up as Helen finally relinquishes her hold on his waist and does so just in time to confront their father who joins them a few hasty steps behind.

Phillip wordlessly looks over the family, from the flushed cheeks and beaming grins of the two girls to the breathless, penitent smile of their father.

“I can explain,” Phineas starts, and Phillip’s jaw drops a fraction.

“I should hope so. You’re late, and-” he pauses to consider their audience, Helen and Caroline looking up at them with interest. Releasing his caught breath, he fixes Phineas with a cavillous stare. “I thought the girls were spending the evening with Charity.”

“They were,” Phineas returns quickly, though with no defensive bite. “I took them to the Hallets myself, but Charity was feeling unwell when we arrived. She insisted she take Helen and Caroline as promised, but with her parents out to the theatre for the evening…. It didn’t feel right. All I could do was either stay home to look after the girls or… bring them along.”

He gestures wordlessly to their present company and Phillip deflates beneath Phineas’ entreating look. He could hardly castigate him for being a considerate man and a responsible father.

“I imagine you’ll see Charity again before I do, so please pass on my regards. I hope good health finds her promptly.”

“I will.” Phineas clears his throat. “I _am_ sorry to have kept you waiting. I had no alternatives at such short notice, and I did make a promise to be here.”

Phillip swears the man is truly awful, even as his sentiment fills him to the brim with warmth. He sighs in defeat.

“I do appreciate that, thank you.”

Phineas’ tentative smile broadens into his familiar crooked grin and he claps Phillip fondly on the shoulder. “They’ll be on their best behaviour, won’t you girls?”

Phillip looks down at the two youngest Barnums as they quickly chime ‘we promise!’ in off-set unison. He now takes the time to properly admire them in their evening dresses and matching zouave jackets; Helen in a patterned midnight blue frock and Caroline in a simple and mature pleated red dress. Helen bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet while Caroline waits with barely concealed fretfulness for Phillip’s verdict.

The corners of his lips twitch, and he knows he’s beaten when Helen cheers.

“It would be an honour to have you ladies accompany us this evening,” he says primly with a half bow. Caroline manages to curb her excitement enough to return the gesture with a demure curtsey, while Helen follows suit with more vigour, teetering on her crossed ankles.

“I think it’s about time we make our way there, can’t be too fashionable now can we?”

Phillip airs his agreement as Phineas takes his daughters by the hand, and at last they make their way down the boulevard.

 

* * *

 

If Helen and Caroline’s attendance is surprising or unwelcome, everyone is too polite to show it in such close quarters. They’re welcomed into the cloak-room by the valets who take their hats and coats and then wave them into the house without a word of dissent.

Although the evening may have started in the dining room, the guests had since spilled out into the adjoining entrance hall and antechambers. Phillip could spy a small library with several ladies clustered before the shelves, and to the right the door to the study was propped open to allow guests to roam freely. Men and women wandered arm in arm up the staircase - to the drawing room, Phillip imagined - while others merely swanned between rooms to convene with familiar names and faces. Throughout every room there was the constant low drone of conversation.

“Remember, I don’t want you causing a scene,” Phineas rumbles playfully under his breath, startling a huff of laughter from Phillip.

“Oh, of course. If I need help, I’ll use my pigeon call.”

Phineas’ eyebrows arch in genuine surprise. “Can you really do a pigeon call?”

Phillip winks and turns away, “You’ll just have to wait and listen, won’t you?” He waves to the girls as he separates from them, setting off into the heart of the soiree with confidence before he wavered. Before long, Phineas, framed between his two girls, is lost among the swells of guests.

 

* * *

 

It all comes back like stretching a long-forgotten muscle, and after relieving a passing servant’s tray of a flute of champagne, he spends his first hour reacquainting himself with old peers and being introduced to new ones, all with the same shallow pleasantries. He quickly finds his rhythm, breezing between circles and tying off conversations with a clever parting comment and firm handshake.

He would catch glimpses of Phineas in between, eyes drawn to the twirl of a red skirt or by the deep reverberating laughter he was sure he could feel through the floor and the soles of his shoes. Sometimes Phineas was already looking in his direction, and other times it was as if Phineas could feel Phillip’s eyes on him. But without fail their eyes would meet and they’d exchange a small nod, always checking. Everything’s fine.

When he first sees Phineas without Helen or Caroline nearby, it doesn’t stir any concern. And when Phineas too disappears, likely to seek new pastures elsewhere in the house, Phillip is too involved in his ongoing discussion to notice.

His restored confidence stumbles when he hears a familiar voice address him from behind, curtailing his conversation.

“Phillip, is that you?”

Schooling his expression into one of polite surprise as he excuses himself from his current company, Phillip turns to face his father. He stands among a small conglomerate of old, equally imperious looking gentlemen not two feet away, staring down at Phillip with a severity ingrained in the lines of his face.

“Father,” he greets, only realising now he isn’t well versed in the familial protocol once one has been disowned. Thankfully, his father doesn’t correct him, but his scrutinising stare, steely blue and uncompromising, triggers a hyper awareness inside him. The darker pigmented skin around his eyes and jaw, where the worst of his bruising has yet to fully fade, tingles uncomfortably, and the ugly scabbing across his temple feels like it’s pulling the skin too tight.

Whatever Theodore Carlyle concludes in his own mind, he simply acknowledges it with a sharp nod and a gruffly uttered “At least you still have the good sense to make an appearance at reputable affairs.”

It’s unclear if it’s a backhanded compliment or an intimation he’s glad Phillip isn’t lying dead beneath the rubble of the circus, so Phillip settles for a neutral incline of his head.

“Is-”

“Your mother isn’t attending this evening.” Carlyle Sr. cuts in, the finality of the statement an entrenched cue not to pursue that avenue any further. Instead, he steps back to present his companions. “You remember Elias Baldwin, Oliver Huxley, and Samuel Baker.”

Phillip dutifully shakes hands with each of his father’s old associates, names he’d known since he was a boy and men he’d met sporadically over the years.

“It’s been a while since we last saw you, lad. Near on ten years I’d say.” Huxley says around a cigar.

“Can’t say we saw that late rebellious streak coming from dour little Phillip, though,” Baker guffaws, a sound rising from the depths of his portly stomach, “First the writing, now a circus. Can’t say you don’t know how to get your old man’s goat.”

Being addressed with such indulgent humour, as if he were a recalcitrant adolescent rather than a man forging his own path, has Phillip fighting to suppress a rush of indignation. But it’s a heat quickly quelled by the frigid air emanating from his father. Had Phillip not learned to identify the senior Carlyle’s most understated tics of annoyance, he would have missed the subtle shift in his father’s jaw as he shot the men a flinty glare. Phillip has to bite back a short-lived smile of satisfaction.

“Shame about that circus business, of course.” Baldwin adds with perfectly artificial sincerity. “But onwards and upwards, right, my boy? Might be good fortune in disguise.”

Phillip feels the hard press of a phantom wall against his back as the four men look at him expectantly, and he claws together every scrap of charm he possesses to laugh agreeably. “Fate and fortune work in surprising ways,” he acknowledges with a tilt of his glass, taking a drink as the men make concurring sounds. “Speaking of good fortune, Elias, I heard you had a great result at this year’s derby. Volante was yours I believe?”

Phillip keeps his attention averted from the incisive gaze of his father as Baldwin starts with new zest. Huxley and Baker groan at the revival of a conversation that had apparently run its course several times over.

“Not just a great result, my boy, the _best_ result. They don’t call me ‘Lucky Baldwin’ for irony. She was the star of the Great American Derby!”

Nothing distracted a man quite like his own pride, and Baldwin’s account of his thoroughbred’s victory easily diverts the conversation to more comfortable ground. Even as his father remains a repressive shade in his peripheral, Phillip manages to tread lighter topics without another mention of the circus.

It’s when they’re discussing Huxley’s business development in California that the conversation is cut short. A jarring clatter and the sound of impact, forceful enough to shunt a table across the floor with an unpleasant scrape, punctuated by the smashing of several glasses, deftly silences the room. 

The unearthly quiet stretches, then is pierced by the distraught wail of a child. It’s an almost harrowing sound in the ensuing moments, as guests murmur and ebb around the commotion and seem to physically recoil as Helen comes stumbling through.

Phillip’s stomach churns with horror as Helen spots him among the scores of unfamiliar faces, and with a desperate, sobbing _“Flip,”_ makes a beeline towards him.

A hundred pairs of burning censorious eyes follow.

Something cold grips him then, and his breath comes in panicked little flutters, like a steel cage was enclosing his chest. He can feel the eyes of his father and his peers boring into him, and suddenly Phillip is seven years old again, weaving through an endless sea of strangers attending his parents’ reception with tears in his eyes and crying for his mother. He dreads the same, surely instinctive resentment that had overtaken his father. That had made him take Phillip in a hard grip by the shoulder and march him from the room. To scruff him like a dog and dash him into the care of his governess with little more than a biting rebuke about dignity and humiliation.

He can’t bear the thought of being overcome by that same callousness, and the fear that he will subject Helen to it as well paralyzes him. But when Helen is almost upon him, he sees the glossy sheen to her eyes and the tears wetting her red cheeks, her skirt damp from spilt wine and her hand clutching her forehead all while she cries out for him.

Phillip kneels down without a second thought and embraces Helen as she rushes into him, drawing her tight into the safety of his arms. He hushes her softly, stroking her hair as she weeps and babbles into his ear.

“M-mm s-sorr-ry, I-I could-couldn’t fi-find d-daaadddy.” She works herself into another bout of sobs and Phillip hums soothingly, murmuring a thoughtless mantra of _it’s ok_ and _I’m here now, you’re safe_ into her hair until her cries diminish to raggedly uneven breaths and little whimpers. He eases her back a step so he can see her properly, and each tear he brushes away sends a thin fracture spidering across his heart.

“M’sorry, Flip,” Helen sniffs.

“Don’t be sorry.” He takes his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her face and tweaks her nose through the cloth to coax a wet smile. “What happened?”

Helen presses the toe of her shoe into the floor, hands fidgeting together. “Was playing with Caroline and I fell. I hit a table,” she mumbles, fingers pressing to the red mark across her forehead.

Someone scoffs from the crowd, and Phillip whips his head up with a fierce glare. The reaction startles the onlookers as they shift beneath his glower and turn away in a farcical imitation of conversation among themselves. Phillip finds he doesn’t care as he tenderly feels across Helen’s forehead to gauge the damage.

“I think you’re going to have quite a nice bump there, Peanut,” he tells her. “But you’ve been a brave girl, haven’t you?” Helen shakes her head with another sniff. “No? Well, I think you’ve been _very_ brave,” he assures her with a smile.

“Can I come up?” she asks quietly, and Phillip in one swift action stands and takes Helen with him, sitting her against his hip.

“Better?”

He takes one of her hands, and then the other, and presses a kiss to each palm to make her giggle. He lays a final kiss to the bump on her head when she leans in expectantly.

“Will it look like yours?”

Phillip only understands when Helen delicately touches the scabs across his temple, her face full of curiosity and concentration.

“No. You’ll be as beautiful and perfect as ever,” he promises. Phillip feels a flutter of joy, something deep and primitively protective, when Helen’s radiant smile returns and she wraps her arms around his shoulders to cuddle into the crook of his neck

When his father at last speaks up, Phillip starts, having genuinely forgotten he was there to bear witness to the whole scene.

“Phillip, that is quite enough,” Carlyle Sr. hisses, and Phillip can feel the room hold its collective breath. He can see the tension around his father’s eyes, the hard set to his jaw which speaks of mortification, and Phillip angles Helen away so he shields her from the brunt of his father’s contempt. “You are _incorrigible._ It is unseemly, coddling the girl like that, as you of all people should know. We raised you _better._ She isn’t even your child!”

Before he can reply, Phineas is urgently pushing his way through the crowd, emerging with Caroline close to his side.

“Helen?!” Phineas noticeably relaxes when he finds Helen safe and calmly nestled in Phillip’s arms. He’s at their side not a moment later. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he queries, cupping her face in his palms as she lifts her head from Phillip’s shoulder, eyes drawn to the vivid red mark and burgeoning bump on her head.

“Yes, daddy. Phillip kissed it better.”

It’s only with Helen’s reassurance that Phineas seems to truly wind down, and he turns to Phillip with his eyes brimming with gratitude.

 _“Thank you,”_ he breathes. It doesn’t seem right to offer a trivialising response in the face of such sincerity, so Phillip nods and holds Phineas’ gaze, wordlessly acknowledging the weight of his partner’s gratitude.

“You should teach your litter how to behave, Barnum. Permitting ruffian behaviour like that and then having them snivel to any familiar face is tawdry.” Carlyle Sr. scorns, ill content with the way Barnum’s presence diminished the authority behind his previous reprimand.

Phineas turns in an instant, staring down at the Carlyle patriarch with a look of umbrage Phillip had only ever seen levered at the protestors who had brought their circus to its knees. “In the company of riffraffs and outcasts, I am at least confident that my daughters are cared for. The same cannot be said for here. I would rather they know there are people they can turn to when they’re in need, instead of being made to feel frightened and alone.”

The men hold each other’s glare, hostility crackling between.

“I feel truly sorry,” Phillip remarks suddenly, and both Phineas and his father turn to look at him, still holding Helen but now with Caroline clutching onto his other hand, “for any child whose parents consider their pain or fear to be an inconvenience.”

The tension bleeds from Phineas, replaced with something akin to pride. “I couldn’t agree more.” With a gesture, Phineas ushers them out of the ring of onlookers they’d found themselves in, and they go to collect their belongings from the cloakroom. As Phillip assists Caroline with her coat, Phineas gives Helen a quick inspection, gently feeling the bump as Phillip had done, and pressing a kiss to the light graze they find on her knee.

With that, they leave the townhouse with the girls between them and little more than an exchange of wearied looks.  

 

* * *

 

The station is deserted when they step off the train, and they forego a carriage in favour of the twenty-minute walk to Phineas’ home. The girls dash ahead, dramatics of the evening already forgotten as Phillip and Phineas trail behind, almost shoulder to shoulder.

“You’ve been very quiet.”

Phillip blinks, surfacing from the depths of his thoughts with a puzzled look. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been very quiet.” Phineas repeats, softer now, his brow furrowing. “Are you ok?”

Phillip takes his lip between his teeth, applying a steady pressure as he looks after the girls twirling and racing further up the road, wondering if he should disclose his thoughts or keep them locked away. They were surely absurd, and he would feel foolish in the morning, but for the moment he wanted to alleviate the worries that silently burdened his mind, and the genuine care in Phineas’ inquiry has Phillip divulging everything before he could dissuade himself.

“I was afraid of what I would do, in front of all those people.”

“To your father?”

“To Helen.”

“Helen?” Phineas’ confusion is pronounced, as if he couldn’t conceive any other possible outcome for what had transpired that evening. It comforts Phillip to know that Phineas thought so well of him that he didn’t harbour the same uncertainty, but if he had to make anyone aware, aware of his doubts and treacherous nature, it would be Phineas every time.

“When I was a boy, I got upset during one of my parents’ parties. I don’t know if I was hurt or just overwhelmed, but I was crying and trying to find my mother. My father found me first, and I remember being so afraid when he took a hold of me. He dragged me from the room, berating me for embarrassing them. I wasn’t trusted to attend another event for several months after that.”

“You were afraid you’d be the same way with Helen,” Phineas surmises. Phillip shrugs and keeps his attention on the two girls who remain blithely unaware of the conversation taking place behind them.

“My father was never the most paternal, but seeing how other parents would comfort their children when they were upset, how you care for Helen and Caroline... I suppose I convinced myself there was a reason my father always reacted more harshly, and that I may be the same way.”

Phineas’ slips his hand into Phillip’s and interlocks their fingers with a light squeeze. “Phillip, your reaction tonight was due to you being a good man, and that is something your father can’t influence. You could never respond to any child in need with any less compassion than you did with Helen tonight.” He stops suddenly, forcing Phillip to do the same. He looks up at the taller man questioningly. “And there is no one else I would rather my children go to in a time of need than you.”

“Yeah?” Phillip mumbles, and refusing to be reduced to a bashful fool, he brushes Phineas’ hand away and instead draws him down into a firm and grateful kiss. Phineas hums against his lips, and the content sound vibrates pleasantly between them as they exchange kisses, growing longer and deeper until Phineas’ tongue finds its way between Phillip’s lips. The younger man sighs blissfully, but retreats regardless to mutter a light admonishment. It’s quickly hushed beneath more languid kisses and short adoring pecks, and Phillip can’t quite fathom when Phineas had looped his arms around his waist.

“Caroline! They’re making kissyface again!” Helen squeals, laughter boisterous in the quiet road. Phillip steps back, cheeks flushed at having been caught, but no level of mortification could dampen his smile as Phineas, chuckling, drops another kiss to his temple.

“Yeah,” Phineas confirms, linking their hands again as if there hadn't been any disruption to their conversation. “I didn’t hear a pigeon call once, by the way,” Phineas remarks, laughing when Phillip rolls his eyes and purposefully bumps his shoulder. They take up their previous pace as the girls, giggling and unburdened, race back to meet them, situating themselves under either man’s free arm, all leaning into each other as they head for home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the fic or have any thoughts on it, comments are greatly appreciated <33


End file.
